


Batter Stations

by romanticalgirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Knowing is half the batter</p>
            </blockquote>





	Batter Stations

**Author's Note:**

> Much much love to [](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/profile)[**alethialia**](http://alethialia.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/)**hackthis** for making this a million times better than it was. For they are made of awesome.
> 
> Originally posted 2-14-10

“You know what we should do?” Nate’s draped on top of Brad, one leg between both of Brad’s and his head on Brad’s shoulder, his hair damp and dark with sweat.

“Yeah, but I need at least a half hour of recovery time.” Brad trails his finger down Nate’s spine, smiling as Nate shivers against him. “Not that I don’t have other means to make you writhing, pleading and completely mentally incapacitated.”

Nate groans against Brad’s chest, inhaling sweat and sex. “You made me lose my train of thought.”

Brad raises his eyebrow and smirks. “That _wasn’t_ your train of thought?”

“I do think of things other than sex occasionally.”

“Really? Why?”

“Man cannot live on sex alone.”

“Are you including blow jobs and hand jobs in that definition of sex?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Are you _sure_?”

Nate rolls his eyes. “Computers?”

“Cyber sex.”

“Guns?”

“You really have to ask with that one?”

Nate shakes his head and smiles, his fingers tracking slow patterns on Brad’s skin. “Do you want to know what I think we should do or not?”

“I’m not sure. It apparently doesn’t involve sex, so I don’t think I’ll like it.”

“I wasn’t aware I was just a sex object to you.”

“You don’t think I want you for your mind or anything, do you? I mean, c’mon. It’s not like you’re some sort of Harvard graduate or something.” Brad settles his hand on the back of Nate’s neck. His thumb traces the soft hairs of Nate’s nape. “Okay, I’ll bite. What should we do today?”

“Now I don’t want to tell you.”

Brad growls low in his throat. “Don’t make me.”

Nate smiles, almost laughing. “You wouldn’t.”

Brad’s eyes widen at Nate’s challenge. “Name one thing I _wouldn’t_ do.”

“Okay, okay. You _would_.” Nate laughs and rubs his palm over Brad’s nipple before teasing it with his fingers. It’s one of the few spots that short-circuits Brad’s control, causing him to arch off the bed, gasping almost painfully. “Not that I’m completely defenseless.”

“You mean now that you’re just a pussy civilian, you haven’t forgotten how to-” Brad pauses to groan, the hand at Nate’s neck tightening instinctively. “Fuck.”

“No, I haven’t forgotten how to do that in the last fifteen minutes.”

“V-very funny,” Brad groans, hips rocking upward.

“But, for your information.” Nate leans in and replaces his fingers with his tongue, flicking it over Brad’s taut nipple. “I haven’t forgotten anything now that I’m a, in your words, ‘pussy civilian’.”

Brad’s head falls back and he’s silent except for the rough breaths that he can’t quite stop as Nate teases his nipple. “Okay,” he manages to gasp. “Truce. Truce.”

“Truce my ass.” Nate laughs and flicks his tongue again. “Surrender.”

“Sur…fuck that, I…Okay. Okay.” Brad grabs Nate and hauls him up to kiss, hard and hungry. “Mutual surrender.”

“Unconditional.”

“Yeah.” Brad kisses Nate slowly, exploring his mouth. “I’m all yours.”

Nate laughs again, and moves to straddle Brad mid-thigh. “That was a given.”

Brad smirks. “So, if you’re not going to take advantage of me, what exactly are we going to do today?”

“It’s not really an either/or proposition, you know.” Nate’s finger grazes Brad’s nipple again and Brad growls jerkily. “I was thinking we could stay around the house.”

“And have sex.”

“No.” Nate skates his fingers down Brad’s side, smirking as Brad twitches. “Something a little more G-rated.”

“Seriously? What have you done with the real Nate Fick? Because I was okay with the ‘have sex all the time’ model.”

Nate taps Brad on the stomach, not quite a warning. “Keep this up, Colbert, and we’re never having sex again.”

“Fine.” Nate would call Brad’s tone sullen if he didn’t think that would make Brad pout more. “So what’s your great plan?”

Nate waits a beat. “Cookies.”

“Cookies?”

“Cookies.”

“Is that some sort of safe word?”

“Maybe after. But today, my friend. Today we are going to spend in the kitchen making cookies.”

“You know, the last twelve hours prove I haven’t had my balls cut off.”

“But who knows what the next twelve hours will bring.” Nate reaches down and wraps his hand around Brad’s cock, feeling it stiffen in his grip. “I’m making cookies. Triple chocolate chip and snickerdoodles. I’m going to spend all day in the kitchen, then I’m going to fall into bed exhausted.” He leans in, squeezing Brad lightly as he kisses him. “You do whatever you want.”

“Do I get to lick the beaters?”

Nate climbs off Brad and the bed, tugging on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. “And get salmonella?”

“Salmonella is the lowest thing on my list of ‘stuff I worry might kill me’.”

“Then sure.”

“I just want you to know-”Brad follows him off the bed and grabs his jeans. “I’m only getting dressed so that I’m not naked when the firemen come to put the house fire out.”

**

Nate can see Brad out of the corner of his eye, knows he’s watching as Nate lines the ingredients up neatly, preparing them for batter.

“You know you suck at cooking, right?” Brad offers. “I mean, do we even need to _discuss_ the Spaghetti Incident?”

Nate gives Brad a quick glare. “Two years ago, Colbert. Let it _go_.”

“I mean, we had MREs that tasted better. _Expired_ MREs.”

“Brad,” Nate warns.

“And the steaks. Remember the steaks, Nate? No bovine on record has forgiven you for that.”

“You don’t get any cookies now, you know that, right?” Nate sets the bowl on the counter, steadfastly _not_ looking at Brad. “Besides, baking isn’t the same as cooking.”

“Only because you use ingredients that aren’t sentient and therefore can’t beg for mercy.”

“No cookies. No sex.” Nate opens the bag of flour and buries the measuring cup in it before lifting it and leveling it off, pouring it into a bowl.

“You’re only hurting yourself with the no sex thing.”

“ _Only_ myself?”

Brad waves a hand. “You know what I mean.”

“What makes you think I need you to have sex?”

Brad raises his eyebrow, slowly and eloquently. “I’m sorry. Are you implying there’s someone else who is partaking of sexual relations with you?” Brad doesn’t smile and his tone brings back memories of hell breaking loose around them in theatre. “ _Sir_?”

“I was thinking more of my left hand,” Nate informs him matter-of-factly. “Although if you’d like to suggest someone else…”

“There _is_ no one else.”

Nate smirks and turns back to the second bowl, filling it with butter, sugar, eggs and vanilla. “Maybe.” Nate grins and tosses an empty eggshell into the trash. “And I know this is hard for you, being so staunchly Republican and all, but maybe you should reserve judgment until you have all the facts.”

“I’ve eaten your cooking, Nate. Or tried to.”

“I’m not _cooking_ , Brad,” Nate repeats slowly, enunciation perfect. “Note the differences.” Nate grabs a wooden spoon and starts stirring the batter, feeling the muscles in his arm and back flex as Brad walks closer, surveying the ingredients.

“Chocolate chips?”

Nate laughs. “That’s a start.” He hands the bowl to Brad. “Stir.”

Brad takes over the wooden spoon as Nate pulls out cookie sheets and turns on the oven. He can feel Brad’s gaze and he smiles to himself before straightening up and wiping his hands on the back pockets of his jeans.

“That’s really fucking unsanitary,” Brad remarks dryly.

“And you’re a stickler for sanitary conditions.” Nate nods seriously and opens the bag of chocolate chips. “Like that time in the airport bathroom in Dallas.”

“There were extenuating circumstances.”

“A hard on.”

“A hard on and the fact that I hadn’t seen you in ten months.” Brad reminds him, bringing the bowl over and continuing to stir as Nate pours the package of chips into it. “And the hotel was at least two blocks away.”

“And that bar in Chelsea?”

“I was waiting to hear Journey on the jukebox.”

“And that place off the beach?”

“You were wearing those shorts.”

Nate opens another bag and pours it in. “Your mom’s guest bathroom?”

Brad’s eyebrow shoots skyward. “Are you suggesting my mother’s guest bathroom is anything less than immaculate?”

“Just stir, Colbert.”

Brad smirks and does so for several more strokes before setting the bowl down next to the cookie sheets. “Okay. I have stirred, sir.”

“Good boy.” Nate picks out a chocolate chip and pushes it into Brad’s mouth. “Now, make like a good Marine and observe.” He turns his attention back to the bowl and scoops out even balls of dough, four lines of three repeated on three cookie sheets in rapid succession.

“Wow. They’re even standing at attention.”

“Shut up. And hand me that wooden spoon.” Nate takes it from Brad and smacks him hard across the ass with it. “Don’t mock my cookies.”

“You _fucker_.” Brad grabs another spoon from the crock on the counter and swings it, his blow deflected by Nate’s spoon.

Brad narrows his eyes. He clearly wasn’t expecting Nate to block him.

“Okay, Fick. It is _on_.” Brad shifts his grip, flipping the spoon so that the bowl of it fits in his palm and the handle is pointed at Nate. “Bring it.”

Nate grabs a clean spoon and slides the handle along Brad’s then taps wood against wood. “ _En guarde_.”

“Fuck that.” Brad engages his spoon against Nate’s with a loud clack, trying to knock it out of his hand. “I’m not playing by some pussy fencing rules.”

“Who said I was?” Nate slides the handle of his spoon behind the bag of flour and pushes it off the counter, letting it shower all over Brad as it falls to the floor. Brad coughs several times, but evades Nate’s first swing at him by taking a step back.

Brad watches as Nate smiles, wiping residual powder from his face. Brad feints then moves in to attack, accidentally kicking the bag of flour and sending a cloud of white powder into the air.

Brad wipes his face and then lunges just as the oven reaches the preset temperature and clicks. Nate sidesteps him. “Cookies.” Brad stares at him in a mixture of amusement and disbelief and Nate has to bite his lip to keep from laughing as he slides two pans into the oven and sets the timer for four and a half minutes.

“You have _got_ to be kidding.”

Nate levels a look at Brad and raises his spoon. “Is that surrender?”

“I don’t fucking surrender.” He parries Nate’s strike, both of them hitting hard enough to make Nate’s hands sting. They keep fighting until Brad grabs one of the kitchen chairs and swings it into the field between them. Nate charges onto it and tips it forward, tackling Brad to the ground. Brad throws him off and Nate slides halfway across the linoleum floor, coming to a stop just in front of the table. Brad levers himself up and pushes off the floor, coming to a stop as the timer goes off.

“Cookies.” Nate gets off the floor, moving toward the oven. He grabs two oven mitts and switches the cookie sheets on the racks. Brad stares at him in disbelief, though he does wait until Nate’s got the oven door shut before he throws the spoon, smacking Nate solidly on the ass. “Hey!”

“You’re using cookies as a dodge, fucker.” Brad grabs another spoon from the holder. “Fight me like a man.”

“With a wooden spoon.” Nate fights his smile. Brad flips him off, which just makes Nate laugh. Brad starts toward him, kicking the downed bag of flour and sending a plume of white powder into the air. Brad’s hair ends up dirty white and there are streaks of white down his clothes. The floor is covered with drifts of the stuff, sprayed out as far as the refrigerator. Nate can only imagine how he looks.

“Are you suggesting I can’t kill you with a spoon?” Brad’s eyebrow goes up and flour falls down from his hair onto his nose. “Because I _know_ you’re not suggesting that.”

“I’m suggesting you’re kind of a pussy for needing a spoon.” Nate laughs and dodges the wooden projectile, jumping back out of the way as it ricochets off the oven door and skitters across the floor. Brad launches an attack right after he throws the spoon, so Nate’s evasive action places him directly in Brad’s path. They slam against the kitchen counter hard enough that Nate gasps, pain blossoming along his spine.

“What now, Fick?”

It takes him a minute to catch his breath, to respond. Brad waits for him, his grin growing wider the longer it takes. Finally, Nate uses his foot for leverage, shoving against a cupboard to propel him back into Brad, overbalancing them and sending them to the floor in a dust storm of flour. He smiles down at Brad’s powder white face just as the oven timer goes off. “Cookies.”

**

Nate sits on the couch, resting his head against Brad’s chest as Brad loops his arm around him. On the table in front of them is a plate littered with crumbs and a half gallon container empty of all but a thin coating of milk. “Well?”

Brad shrugs and tightens his arm, leaning down to kiss the top of Nate’s head. “Well, they weren’t pound cake.” Nate slugs him in the stomach and Brad laughs. “That was a compliment!”

“Yeah, right.”

Fingers hooking under Nate’s chin, Brad tilts his head up so they’re looking at each other. “Delicious. But given a choice between cookies and spending the whole day in bed together...”

“Mmm,” Nate skates the tip of his tongue across Brad’s lips. “That’s what tomorrow is for.”

“Oh, well, then.”

“Plus we get cookies.”

Brad kisses him, long and slow and deep, exploring Nate’s mouth like it’s the first time. When he pulls back, Nate’s chest is tight with lack of air and want. “All the cookies are done?”

“Yeah,” Nate nods.

“If we went to bed now, we’d have a day and a half in bed.” He grins. “With cookies.”

“I bow down to your superior suggestion.”

Brad gets off the couch and offers Nate a hand. “How about you suck my dick instead?”

Nate grins and lets Brad haul him up, using the momentum to pull Brad into another kiss as he gets off the couch. “Copy that.”  



End file.
